Saturday, 22 September 2001

I have no idea why I'm doing what I'm doing. On a scientific level it's interesting to watch my actions and emotional responses change over time, but I'm worried that actually I'm just a bit emotionally sub-normal.

I met up with her last night and we talked. I've never had such an emotional talk, never been more honest with my feelings, and never used so many cliches in open conversation (just going to prove that they're generally only cliches because they're true).

And now we're going to go away on holiday together.

I'm making it feel like the weekend I took her to Marlow, when I knew it would lead to failure, but I could walk away with my head held high and be proud of my actions. I want to spend the week with her because she's someone I love, and I want it to be spectacular, soaring, elegant, romantic, sexy, exciting, fun and beautiful. Then next Sunday I will walk away, and my year of dalliance with her will be over. Then this week will stand in my memory - and hopefully in hers - forever, growing in perfection as it recedes through the years, a testament to how wonderful we were together and all that will never be.

And if all that feels like a load of romantic claptrap then I don't care.

There other possible explanations for my motives that are less pretty, namely

1) Such is the Hollywood-like enormity of her betrayal and deceit, I'm still in denial and just haven't come to terms with it at all

2) My self-esteem is so pathetically low I'm prepared to put up with anything and anyone

leading to a possibility that I'll attack her with a large, sharp knife during the week. She's prepared to accept that risk and so am I.